She claps her hands, thrice just so
He heeds her not, the cad
And flings his scarf with evil grin
Content to stoke the mad.
He shelters midst the weeping drips
And wails a sad refrain
Of fairy dust and sparkly nips
That doth invade his drain.
With snarly snickers and snarky huffs
Up-turned toes proclaim his anxious plight
As skyward wing’d motes and puffs
Flit round pale silver light.
I shall not yield before such strife
The wee one doth proclaim
For misery is my lot in life
A creature quite insane.